"Never you mind me, McCann," I replied, "but you do what is right."

With that he began his search. It might have been ludicrous if I had had
any desire to laugh, for the chief wore the gingerly air of a man looking
for a rattlesnake which has to be got somehow. And my client assisted at
the inspection with all the graces of a dancing-master. McCann poked
into the forward lockers where we kept the stores,--dropping the iron lid
within an inch of his toe,--and the clothing-lockers and the
sail-lockers. He reached under the bunks, and drew out his hand again
quickly, as though he expected to be bitten. And at last he stood by the
trap with the hole in it, under which the Celebrity lay prostrate. I
could hear my own breathing. But Mr. Cooke had his wits about him still,
and at this critical juncture he gave McCann a thump on the back which
nearly carried him off his feet.

"They say the mast is hollow, old man," he suggested.

"Be jabers, Mr. Cooke," said McCann, "and I'm beginning to think it is!

"He took off his cap and scratched his head.

"Well, McCann, I hope you're contented," I said.

"Mr. Crocker," said he, "and it's that thankful I am for you that the
gent ain't here. But with him cutting high finks up at Mr. Cooke's house
with a valet, and him coming on the yacht with yese, and the whole
country in that state about him, begorra," said McCann, "and it's domned
strange! Maybe it's swimmin' in the water he is!"

The whole party had followed the search, and at this speech of the